


Beyond the masks we wear

by Khalehla



Series: Souls on Fire [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Modern Setting but with Soulmates, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Soulmates, Steno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding your soulmate is meant to be a life-changing moment that is celebrated, because in a world with 7 billion people, what are the chances of meeting that one special someone? But life isn't all sunshine and roses, and the question there is, what if the soul-bond happens in (perhaps) the wrong place and (definitely) the wrong time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mario

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tmrs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmrs/gifts).



> Firstly, this is an AU fic that's not an AU coz it's set in our universe. Now, I don't personally know anyone who has experienced what I'm writing about, but I don't want to say that it _definitely_ can't happen, but I'll lean towards 'doesn't happen'. If I'm wrong, please feel free to drop me private message because _seriously!_ That would be the most exciting thing _ever_ and I want to hear all about it!
> 
> Secondly, this is for **tmrs** who provided the inspiration for the story, and who is an enabler of my mission to turn into the world's biggest angst writer. I know I offered another piece of work, so please don't kill me  <3  
> It's still pretty much prompt- heavy, so thank you for being an awesome beta-not-beta. xoxo
> 
> Lastly, each chapter will have it's own character, so this won't be one massive angst-fest - YAY!
> 
> \--  
>  **Update on edits** : I've had to re-structure the format because long chapters were killing me. Hopefully it's not too annoying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although he had been expecting that question the second they walked in, Mario still looks away, unwilling to voice the truth they needed to hear. They’ve seen the signs, he knows, and after this last incident, they would be incredibly stupid to not know the reason – and none of them would ever be accused of being stupid.

++ **Mario** ++

He is in the lobby of their Frankfurt hotel with the Bayern contingent waiting for the rest of their national teammates to arrive when it happens. One minute Mario is laughing at Manu and Thomas, and the next minute he is on the ground, clutching his head in agonising pain. He is vaguely aware that Jérôme and Thomas are talking to him, that Holger has run off calling for the team doctor, but their voices are distant, the throbbing in his mind taking over his senses.

“Götze, Götze, you need to calm down. Can you open your eyes?” It is Dr. Müller-Wolfahrt, who arrives with Jogi and Oliver Bierhoff.

Mario lets out a groan, unable to do as he is asked, but then he remembers what happened, and his eyes snap open. “Marco!” he gasps, grasping the doctor’s hand in panic. “You need to find Marco!”

“Mario, you need to calm down,” the doctor repeats, trying to hold down the struggling Mario. “Marco and his teammates aren’t here yet.”

“I know!” Mario almost yells, trying sit up, but is held down effectively. “Please. _Please_ , you need to find him. I think he’s been hurt.”

There must have been something in his voice, perhaps the panic or the desperation, but he eventually makes them understand because he sees Jogi and Bierhoff exchange glances, then a nod. It isn’t until the latter pulls out his phone and starts dialling that Mario finally succumbs to the blackness.

\--

The next time he wakes, he is lying on a hospital bed and there are machines beeping loudly, doctors and nurses crowded around the bed next to his. He instinctively knows that it is Marco, and he sits up, trying to push down the panic rising in his throat. A nurse notices him and walks over.

“Mr. Götze, are you okay?”

Mario shakes his head, looks in the direction of the other bed. “What’s wrong with Marco?”

“Mr. Reus is going into distress. Please, you need to calm down as well,” the nurse urges, placing a hand on his arm. “He’s physically fine, but if he can sense you panicking, he might get worse.”

Mario forces himself to take a few deep breaths, not stopping until his heart beat has slowed down. The nurse pats his hand encouragingly. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks again, needing to know.

The nurse looks over his shoulder to where the medical team are visibly relaxing over Marco’s condition, then he pulls down his mask and takes a seat on the chair next to Mario’s bed; he introduces himself as Matthias.

“Your teammates were in a car accident when they were apparently on the way to Frankfurt; a semi-trailer had lost control in the sleet and hit the car that was immediately behind the one Mr. Reus was in,” Matthias explains. “It wasn’t fatal, but everyone involved suffered from whiplash and concussion, at the very least, so were all admitted for overnight observation. Your team mates were already discharged this morning; Mr. Reus is the only one left.”

Mario takes a moment to take it all in, fiercely thankful that Mats and the rest of the Dortmund crew were alright, but then the worry kicks in again at Matthias’ last words. “How long has he been out?” he asks, looking over at where the medical team are now leaving, happy with Marco’s condition.

“You’ve both been out for nearly two days,” Matthias explains, confirming Mario’s unspoken fears. “We couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t waking up at first, but when Mr. Löw and Dr. Müller-Wolfahrt explained why you were admitted, we figured it was related; hence the two of you sharing a room.”

Mario nods, exhausted all of a sudden.

“Look, try to get some sleep,” Matthias gets up to leave with his colleagues, sensing that Mario wanted to be left alone. “Mr. Reus is hooked up, so we’re monitoring him remotely, but there’s a button next to your bed if you need us. We can bring food if you get hungry.”

Mario thanks him with a smile, but is grateful once everyone leaves.

He gets up slowly and walks over to Marco’s bed, reaching out to smooth his best friend’s hair from his forehead, noticing how Marco’s pale skin is almost translucent in the dim lighting. Marco flinches from the contact at first, then relaxes, unconsciously leaning in to his hand. 

Mario suddenly feels so alone, so scared. He pulls up a chair and sits in it, resting his head on Marco’s bed, his best friend’s hand clutched tightly in his as he sobs quietly into the hospital bedsheet.

\--

Jogi arrives during visiting hours later that day, accompanied by Dr. Müller-Wolfahrt and Bierhoff.

“How are you feeling, Mario?” Bierhoff asks gently.

“Better. Good, actually. Just worried about Marco.”

Müller-Wolfahrt nods. “The doctors maintain that physically he is fine, and should be waking any moment now. They still haven’t figured out why he’s still unconscious, though.”

Mario just shrugs, because he can’t exactly help with that either.

There is silence for a while, until Jogi finally asks, “would you like to enlighten us on how you knew that Reus was in danger?”

Although he had been expecting that question the second they walked in, Mario still looks away, unwilling to voice the truth they needed to hear. They’ve seen the signs, he knows, and after this last incident, they would be incredibly stupid to not know the reason – and none of them would ever be accused of being stupid.

“I see,” Jogi finally sighs, exchanging a look with the other two men. He pulls up a chair next to Mario in an effort to make the younger man feel at ease. “How long?” he asks gently, and Mario relaxes because there is no judgement in his voice, just curiosity.

“Since you first called us up for the national team at the same time,” he admits, finally looking his coach in the eyes.

Bierhoff lets out a low whistle of disbelief, and Mario isn’t surprised at their reaction. They had been there, all three of them, when he and Marco had first met, and had been first hand witnesses to their evolving relationship in the context of the national team, had actively encouraged their partnership once they had seen how harmoniously they played together. Now they knew the reason why.

“Good Lord!” Müller-Wolfahrt exclaims, “how in the world did you manage to maintain it after all these years?”

“It’s not like we had a choice,” Mario shrugs.

“You cannot be so ignorant of the consequences of not maintaining a soul-bond, Götze!” Müller-Wolfahrt admonishes him. “The fact that both you and Reus have lived separate lives for the past seven years could have caused severe damage to you both, not just emotionally, but mentally and physically as well! Look at him! Look at how you reacted to his accident. What you both have done is _dangerous_!”

“Don’t you think we already know that?” Mario demands. “We managed it, alright? And we were mostly fine. It’s just sometimes it went for too long, we didn’t have enough time.” He rubs his face tiredly, and says again. “We managed.”

“How?” Jogi asks.

“International break,” Mario replies honestly, “and short holidays. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take the edge off. Plus, there were the games in between.”

“That’s what? Four or five matches? At most!” Müller-Wolfahrt throws his hands up in frustration. “What were you and Reus thinking?! It’s a wonder at all that you both recovered from any serious injuries if that’s the only time you interacted with each other!”

Mario understands the doctor's reaction. Sociologists, medical practitioners and psychologists all had different theories as to why the soul-bond worked that way. It was already rare enough as it was that two soulmates met and maintained a relationship, but one thing that didn’t seem to change over the thousands of years of human history was that soul mates needed regular contact for the continued physical, mental and emotional well-being of both parties. Once a soul-bond is acknowledged, it had to be maintained, and this is where they had eventually run into problems.

Mario hadn’t even paid much attention to any of that until two months after his transfer. He had been sulking at home because he had come back from physio actually feeling worse. Ann-Kathrin was away for a shoot, so he stayed up all night trying to figure out why his treatment had started regressing, why he was more tired than usual, why he couldn’t keep anything down. When Marco had sent him a text asking how he felt, he replied honestly: ‘ _like I’ve been hit by a freight train while puking my guts out for three days straight. Treatment’s not helping’_.

The following afternoon, after another frustrating session of therapy, Mario received a call from Marco, telling him to buzz him in. Mario was so surprised that he did as he was told, his brain not quite processing why Marco was in Munich. When he opened the door to see his best friend standing there, pale, much too thin, bags under his eyes, Mario immediately understood. _Shit_.

Mario almost yanked Marco into his apartment, and headed towards his bedroom without looking back. They both dressed into pyjamas, crawled into bed, then slept the sleep of the dead until Marco’s alarm went off the next morning. Mario dropped Marco off at the airport as they discussed managing the distance, suggesting that maybe Mario could stay in Dortmund when Bayern went up there in a month. He didn’t end up staying, but that game had been like an adrenalin shot to the arm, tiding them over until the next time they met.

Over the next few years, they had discovered that they could go for two months, maybe three if they were both happy and healthy, without seeing each other, with international breaks being their primary method of prolonged contact.

(Marco had once joked that they were like each other’s power supply, needing regular connection in order to recharge their batteries. Mario had laughed at the time, but had agreed it was a good analogy. It’s not like he could argue, when falling asleep to the sound of his best friend’s heart beat was the only way he could sleep more than four hours sometimes.)

Generally, the longer the time they spent together, the longer they could go without needing to see each other again. When either of them was injured though, that number reduced dramatically to 6 weeks – and that was pushing it dangerously. So, if one of them was injured, they contrived a way to meet up for an overnight visit at least once a month until the injured person recovered. They were both very fortunate that they had girlfriends who were so understanding. 

It wasn’t a perfect strategy, but it had kept them going all this time.

Except it now looked like it didn’t; or that it wasn’t enough anymore. Because each visit was sustaining them for less and less a period of time until they pretty much felt constantly stretched unless they managed to spend more than 48 hours together. This international break couldn’t have come sooner, because they hadn’t seen each other for two months since the last _klassiker_ and with both Bayern and Dortmund still playing in three competitions, it meant their free time was practically non-existent. Marco had offered to fly down to Munich for a quick visit when Mario had admitted that he wasn’t getting more than four hours of sleep at night, but Mario had pointed out that they were called up for the national team in two weeks, so they would see each other then.

Little did he know how bad that decision would now seem. Years of constant tension was now making itself felt and they were finally suffering the consequences. They’d left it for too long. They’d fucked up – _he’d_ fucked up – and it could have been a lot worse than it already was. 

“Hans,” Jogi admonishes the doctor gently, noticing that Mario is upset. Mario has never appreciated his coach more than he has at that moment.

“We managed,” Mario repeats one more time, “it’s not like we have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Jogi’s brows furrow in confusion, “you always have a choice, Mario, you could have –“

“No!” Marco cuts in from the bed on the other side of the room, “we couldn’t have done anything. We’re professional footballers, where was the choice there?”

They all turn in surprise to see a wide-awake Marco, and Mario quickly goes to his side, helping the other man sit up.

“Are you alright, Reus?” Müller-Wolfahrt also hurries over in concern, “do you want us to call the doctors?”

Marco shakes his head. “I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”

Mario hands him a glass of water, then sits up on the bed next to him. They wait until one of their seniors breaks the silence. It falls to Jogi to answer Marco’s question.

“We would have supported you, you know,” their coach says gently. “As long as it didn’t affect the game I wouldn’t have any reason to not keep calling you both up.”

“We know, coach,” Mario agrees, “but you can’t control our clubs, our fans, the media. They’d never accept me and Marco being together.”

And there was the ugly, hard reality, laid bare for everyone to see. Because the truth was that the world of football was not ready to accept two professional footballers in a relationship together – soul-bond or no soul-bond. They would be made pariahs, targeted by the ignorant bigots, hounded the whole time they were playing until they retired – and there was no guarantee that they would be left alone even then.

So much had been written about their ‘blind understanding’ during that one blissful year that they had played together for Dortmund, but neither he nor Marco made reference to their bond, because admitting that they were soulmates whilst still actively playing (not to mention playing for the same team) was practically career suicide. So they had made a decision early on that they would keep it a secret, not even mentioning it to their families, because they both wanted to live relatively ‘normal’ lives (whatever that was) and wanted to keep playing football – they weren’t going to jeopardise that for anything.

From the lack of protest, Mario can see that they all know this. Jogi’s mouth has been opening and closing a couple of times now, but it is Müller-Wolfahrt who talks first.

“There has to be a way,” the doctor says, looking at them intently. “You’re both too run down already, if you keep going the way you are now, you’ll be completely done in three years, five years, _max_ , I can almost guarantee it.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert on the effect of soul-bonds,” Bierhoff teases, trying to lighten up the mood.

“I’m not,” Müller-Wolfahrt responds with a smile, “but I know exhausted bodies, and the two of you are heading straight for early retirement if something doesn’t change.”

Mario looks at Marco but doesn’t respond, because quite frankly, the doctor was probably right. But what could they do?

“Have you thought of actually trying to make a relationship work?” Bierhoff asks them. “As Jogi said, the national team would support you so long as you’re fit to play. And yes we can’t control the reaction of other people, but we can keep the information contained as best as we can. It’s not much, but it’s the best we can offer.”

Before either Mario or Marco can say anything, though, a nurse pops their head in to not only check in on Marco, but to remind the three older men that visiting hours would be over in five minutes.

Jogi and Bierhoff give them both hugs, letting Mario know that he has a choice to come back to Frankfurt if he still wants to play against Argentina, the cover story being that they are blooding the younger players so don’t really need Mario there. Marco, like their other Dortmund teammates, could come only if he was cleared but the doctors.

“Please have a think about it,” Müller-Wolfahrt urges gently, before clapping them on the back and leaving.

\--

“We need to talk about this,” Mario says later that night, once they are alone.

“I’m just so tired,” Marco admits, and Mario knows he is not just talking about the accident. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“Neither do I, but as long as we’re together, it should be okay?”

Marco smiles, pulling him closer until Mario is resting against the crook of his neck. “Do you really think so?”

“It’s not like we’re doing a good job of being apart at the moment,” Mario snorts, “maybe we should try something else?”

“Well, we’re a bit limited in options here considering you’re in Munich and I live in Dortmund,” Marco reminds him. “And there’s also the not inconsequential matter of our girlfriends.”

“We’ve managed the distance before, so that’s nothing new, and I’ll talk to Ann as soon as I get back to Munich; I’ll let you decide when you want to speak to Scarlett.”

“Should we be rushing into a decision here? I think we need to think about this carefully.”

“Is there really much to think about?” Mario asks tiredly. “They know, right? We told them from the beginning.”

Once he and Ann-Kathrin had started dating seriously, they had sat down to discuss whether starting relationships with other people was going work for them. Just as Marco had refused to give up his relationship with Caro at the time, Mario genuinely loved Ann and wanted their relationship to work. His best friend had understood completely, and encouraged him to pursue it, pointing out that they didn’t have a sexual relationship anyway so there was no messy consequence to a sudden break in physical proximity. And for years they had managed to make it work, even with the aftermath of his transfer to Bayern and the relentless media speculations. Ann-Kathrin had understood and accepted their situation, and from the looks of it, Scarlett had no problem either.

“I know, but...”

Mario pulls away, confused and annoyed and just so _tired_. “But what, Marco? I’ll be honest here, I have no fucking clue as to what to do. All I know is that I’m tired of feeling like I’m constantly on edge and I’m three games away from having to retire because I'm nearly always running on empty.” The young man rubs his face and lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what to do, either, but I don’t think I can keep this up anymore. I want to keep playing, football is all I’ve ever wanted to do, all I’ve really been good at, but if I can’t play, what do I have left?”

Mario’s question lingers between them and Mario can almost feel his best friend deflate next to him, and if he wasn’t already half-way heartbroken from their situation already, he’d be there now.

Despite how quickly it looked like he had made the decision about Ann-Kathrin, it is anything but; he’d been thinking about it for months now, the guilt and weariness taking over him. She deserved better than being second place in his life – she was beauty and laughter and strength when he needed her the most without asking more than he could give in return, and she deserved someone who could love her beyond anything else. As much as Mario adored Ann-Kathrin, had never regretted trying for their relationship, had been genuinely happy and appreciative of having her in his life, the truth was that she could never be _first_ for him, not when he was soul-bonded to someone else.

Mario had made his peace with the fact that he was in love with his best friend from perhaps the minute they met, had known from the first time they had been called up for international duty together all those years ago that Marco was his soulmate; it was one of those rare occasions that two people’s initial meeting had been long enough that the acknowledgement came quickly. By the third day, Mario had gotten used to the constant thrumming of his veins that made him feel like his blood was singing, and he had revelled in the fact that everything was just so much easier with Marco than with anyone else. And though she was a balm and safe place for him, the years of trying to balance the tension between managing his relationship with Ann and trying not to lose his mind because of not being able to be with Marco has worn him thin, and he knows he can’t do that: offer Ann only a part of him. It’s completely unfair to her, and he loves her too much to hurt her any more.

And the truth is, he wants this, wants to see if he and Marco can make this work, despite the cold hard reality that they’d spelled out for Jogi; it is only Marco’s reluctance to consider it that stopped him from pursuing it years ago. But he’s so tired now, his defence mechanisms are over-stretched, and he throws the suggestion out there because he really has nothing left to lose.

He can’t do this alone though, needs Marco to be on the same page with him, and from the defeated expression on Marco’s face, Mario knows that Marco is afraid of letting go of his life now that he finally found someone who understood his predicament and loved him anyway. Mario knows how precious that is, and can’t even begrudge his best friend from choosing not to change their status quo, so he lets his heart completely break, then does what he’s being doing for years: just be supportive.

“I’m not putting any pressure on us, just to make that clear,” Mario says, leaning back into Marco and is relieved when his best friend rests his cheek on his head, “but maybe Müller-Wolfahrt’s right? I know we don’t have many choices, but maybe it was time to think about taking some chances because God knows what we’re doing right now isn’t sustainable anyway.”

“I know,” Marco sighs, “I’m just… afraid, I guess. I don’t want you to give Ann up just because we’re a bit more fucked up than usual. And Scarlett, I mean, we’ve only been together for a year…” he trails off and there really isn’t much to say to that.

“Don’t forget about our parents,” Mario adds, gently, but not really in the mood to shy away from how difficult everything is.

“My family loves you,” Marco snorts inelegantly, “like _that’s_ ever gonna be an issue. It’s yours who aren’t gonna be happy if you tell them.”

Mario grimaces because, yeah, that could be a problem. “We’ve got time to come up with something to soften the blow. We haven’t even made a decision yet.”

Their silence is the only evidence that they are both aware that the time for decisions is slowly running out.

**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey **Erika** , this chapter is for you, too, coz you're such a sucker for angst ;) <3 <3
> 
>  
> 
> And no, the next one won't be so angst-filled, so I hope you enjoy it!


	2. Marco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the **Marco** part of what used to be the original format for chapter 1. I had to cut it in half because the long chapters were killing me. Hope you still enjoy it.

++  **Marco** ++

In the end, it is Ann-Kathrin who forces the decision from him.

Marco bumps into her, literally bumps into her, while doing some shopping. They laugh awkwardly for a moment, then because he has no idea what to say to her, he asks her to join him for coffee.

At first they make small talk, but then that ends pretty quickly, and they end up just eying each other over their lattes for a couple of minutes. He’s starting to question the sanity of voluntarily being alone with a girl who probably hates him when he is pretty much directly the reason why she is now single – he really should’ve thought this over better. Just when he is about to make an attempt to leave, she stops him.

“I don’t hate you,” she says out of nowhere.

“What?”

“I’m not angry at you, and I don’t hate you,” Ann-Kathrin repeats.

“You don’t hate me?” Marco doesn’t quite believe her words, because okay, they weren’t enemies or anything, but they were never close either. He always had the sense that she didn’t approve of him and his significance in Mario’s life. “Why wouldn’t you? You have every reason to.”

“Do I?” She asks, leaning back and watching him intently. “Why is that?”

“Um, you and Mario…?”

“Were good when we were together,” she agrees, “but I walked into the relationship knowing exactly where I stood. I’m not going to lie, I really wished you weren’t in the picture, but it’s hard to blame you when I should have known it wouldn’t have lasted.” She runs her hand through her long hair and Marco looks at her, really looks at her, and can see the tiredness in her eyes, the sadness in her smile.

“I really did want you and Mario to work,” Marco says softly, “just so you know. I wanted him to be happy.”

“I know,” Ann-Kathrin agrees, “and I think that’s the reason why I couldn’t really hate you, even when I tried.”

Marco feels a rush of relief at her words. It’s been so long, and he knows that for all the complications in their situations and how generally messed up they were, Ann-Kathrin had been good for Mario, and Marco owes her his eternal gratitude for making Mario happy and not forcing her (then) boyfriend to choose between them.

“I always thought you did,” he admits, and smiles when she rolls her eyes at him. “I couldn’t really blame you, you’re good for him.”

Ann-Kathrin shrugs, not without a hint of sadness. “I _was_ good for him, yes, and he was good for me. But let’s face it, I’m not what he needs.”

“It’s not that he had a choice,” Marco says ruefully, “having a soulmate doesn’t exactly give you options on who you can have relationships with.”

She inhales sharply at his words, and fixes Marco with a fierce glare. “Are you telling me that you _regret_ being soul-bonded to him?” she demands to know.

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

“Oh yeah? Then what _did_ you mean by that?”

Marco wants to huff in frustration at how a pretty tame conversation suddenly turned to this. “All I’m saying, is that if Mario had a _choice_ , he would have chosen you any day,” he explains through gritted teeth, “I was actually paying you a compliment.”

“I don’t _need_ any compliments from you,” Ann-Kathrin laughs scornfully, and Marco can’t help feel offended by her sudden change in behaviour.

“Look,” he says, pushing back his chair slightly. “I’m sorry, okay? Whatever it is that’s the reason why you never liked me, or never approved of me, I’m sorry okay? If I could change the situation, I would, because Sunny’s happy with you and all I’ve ever wanted is for him to be happy. So I’m just gonna apologise right there and leave it at that – it’s up to you if you want to accept my apology or not. But if you’ve got nothing nice, or even just not-nasty, to say to me anymore, it’s fine. I’ll leave now.”

“Oh sit down, you idiot,” she says in exasperation as Marco makes to get up. “Jesus, I know nobody ever accused you of being a genius, but are you really that stupid?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demands, seriously pissed now at her attitude, but doing as he is told.

“Just answer me one thing – truthfully – and depending on your answer, we can part here and never have to speak to each again if at all possible. How does that sound?”

Marco nods belligerently, because really, what else could he do? He sat down when she told him to, didn’t he? Too late to run away now.

She looks at him intently for a few moments, as though trying to see into his soul. The examination makes Marco want to fidget, and he actually starts shifting when she asks him, “If you had a choice, would you choose him?”

He stills and goes cold and almost wishes that he had left when given the chance. Her question is like a dagger to his chest and for a moment he can’t breathe.

_If you had a choice, would you choose him?_

The question is a simple one, and only requires a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, but the weight of it makes Marco want to either curl in ball of denial, run away or throw up – there is no middle ground.

_If you had a choice, would you choose him?_

It’s the question that maybe Marco never had the courage to ask Mario because he was too afraid of the answer, too afraid that what he and Mario had was nothing but a reaction to something that neither of them had any control over. Choice – that’s what it all came down to, in the end, and they? Well they had so little of it.

_If you had a choice, would you choose him?_

And Ann-Kathrin is still watching him closely, waiting for a response that he knows he’s obliged to give. He looks away, and after a few anxiety-filled seconds, he mumbles “ _yes_ ”.

Because if Marco had a choice, it would have been Mario from the very beginning. But he wasn’t the type of person to force people into something they didn’t want to be a part of, so he had stayed the best friend and reluctant soulmate, torn between desperately wanting more than what they were, but loving so much that he would have sacrificed it all as long as Mario was happy. Love is a choice, and if the choice isn’t made voluntarily, then it isn’t love, is it?

_If you had a choice, would you choose him?_

Yes, yes, he would, and admitting it out loud for the first time in his life is as terrifying as he always thought it would be. Ann-Kathrin hasn’t said anything yet, and Marco is beginning to wonder if she even believes him.

“Oh Marco, you fool.” She breathes, and there’s the answer to his question right there.

“You don’t have to believe me, but I’ve answered your question, and now, may I go?”

“Promise me you’ll tell him?”

He stares at her incredulously. “Why in the world would I do that?”

“Because he’s your soulmate? And he deserves to know?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Ann,” Marco says tiredly, wondering yet again how the conversation got here. “Whatever romantic tripe people have written about soul-bonds – and trust me, I’ve read about half of the rubbish out there – it’s not as easy as they make it out to be. It’s _hard,_ okay? Because you still have to fucking _work_ for it, just like any relationship, but with a soul-bond, you’re already at a disadvantage because you didn’t choose to be in that relationship in the first place, and now all of a sudden you have no choice but to work so fucking hard just to _survive_.”

It’s the first time he’s talked to anyone about the inner workings of his relationship with Mario, and the fact that he’s having this discussion with _Mario’s ex-girlfriend_ , of all people, is an irony not lost on him.

“I never claimed that it was easy for you,” she says, “I think I’ve been around long enough to see the aftermaths of when you spend too long being apart, but that’s not the point. The point is that you need to tell him.”

“Jesus, weren’t you listening, Ann? There’s no point in-“

“You really are an idiot, Reus!” Ann-Kathrin cuts him off the only way she knows how, by insulting him. It works though, because he snaps his mouth shut and glares at her furiously. But she doesn’t care and keeps going. “It’s _you_ who isn’t listening! I didn’t tell you that you _should_ tell Mario, I said you _need_ to!”

He is staring at her stupidly, quite obviously not understanding the difference, so she rolls her eyes and goes on. “Did it ever occur to you, that maybe Mario may have felt the same way? That maybe he wants something more real than this half-relationship that you were happy to have despite it not really working at all? That maybe your soulmate may _actually_ be in love with you?”

He can hear her words, and at a certain level, he can understand the meaning as well, but his heart’s spent the last seven or so years guarding itself from pain and its having a very hard time accepting Ann-Kathrin’s words. Because he’s spent so long thinking it would never happen, that he was happy to take whatever affection Mario could spare him just as long as they were together. So he doesn’t get it, not really.

“That’s not true,” he whispers eventually, confused and hopeful and disbelieving because there’s just no way it could possibly be true.

“You doubt me?” She asks with a lift of one of her perfect eyebrows.

Marco shakes his head. “I don’t understand, why would you think that?”

“Because he told me.”

“What? When?”

“Right at the beginning. You know this already, Marco!”

He shakes his head again, still not understanding. “He told me he told you that we were soul-bonded but we never started a relationship-“

“-because there’s no way you could maintain one while you both playing football, and neither one of you was willing to give it up so you decided to see if there was any way you could live a normal life.” She finishes his story with a wave of her hand, as though it wasn’t anything significant. “Yeah he told me that, and yeah I accepted it because he wouldn’t lie to me when he said he loved me, but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t tell he was also already in love with you. I’m not a fool, you know.”

Marco’s breathing has gotten ragged at her words because although she didn’t like him, she wasn’t malicious and wouldn’t make something up like that to hurt him – they all knew that if she had wanted to really do damage, all she had to do was out them at any given time, God knows she had enough proof to back up anything she said. So really there’s no other reason why she would be telling him this unless it was true. Marco really wants to throw up.

“I don’t know what to do, Ann,” he admits softly, head in his hands.

“You need to sit down and talk to him. Properly. Because he’s just as stubborn as you and is probably gonna spend the rest of your footballing careers with his mouth shut because he thinks you don’t want to give you a chance. If _you_ want to try for something more real than what you have right now, you’re going to have to be the one to tell him first, because he seriously doesn’t believe you do.”

“God this is so fucked up,” Marco groans, before lifting his head to finally look at her.

“I know,” she admits, patting his hand in encouragement, “but I think it’s worth giving a chance, because if your own soulmate isn’t worth fighting for, then who is?”


	3. Mario

 ++  **Mario**  ++

The decision to transfer, though seemingly sudden, is unsurprising, really. As much as Mario had hopes that having a new coach would fix the situation that had plagued him in the past few years, he still isn’t satisfied with the amount of game time he was being given. He'd manage to stay injury free for the entire season so far, but being played out of position or getting subbed on isn’t his ideal, so after swallowing down his pride (really, after the debacle in the Pep era, he had very little left when it came to transfer negotiations) he contacts Volker and accepts what Liverpool are willing to offer for him.

Marco is fully supportive. His best friend had resisted the urge to be constantly ranting about Mario's situation at Bayern, but it had been clear to anyone who even had a slight acquaintance with Marco that he was more than displeased at the way Mario was being handled in Munich. Marco would rather have had Mario happy and playing regularly under Kloppo albeit on the other side of the channel, than in the same country but continuing to be miserable under Ancelotti.

The news breaks with very little fanfare because apparently half the world had been expecting it for over a year now, and announcing it to his Bayern team mates brings about sad faces and well-wishes, and very little else. Mario nearly breaks down though, when Thomas, Manu, David and Robert throw him their own farewell dinner, reminding him that although it didn’t work out quite the way he wanted, Mario is still loved in some parts of Munich.

Thomas pulls him aside sometime later in the night to ask him about how they plan on managing the distance. Thomas knows, of course. He and Marco had decided that it would be a good idea to tell at least one person who they trusted in their respective clubs, and after much deliberation, Mario had chosen Thomas, because fun and pranks aside, Thomas is one of the most fiercely loyal and protective people they know. Marco had chosen Mats – no surprise there – and they had told André together. It had only been a couple of months, but their three friends had already made it their job to make sure he and Marco didn’t repeat the mistakes of the past.

(“What the fuck do you think the two of your were doing?” André had screamed at them. “And why didn’t you tell me!? I would have _helped_! We could have worked something _out_!”

They’d spent the next two hours apologizing and calming André down and loving him so much more for his selfless friendship.)

“We’re going to tell Kloppo,” Mario admits, and Thomas nods at this. “It was Bierhoff’s idea and well, we couldn’t really get away with always being on a plane with the crazy season the EPL has if he didn’t know the reason why.”

“Are you going to tell anyone else? Marc or Emre, maybe?”

That had been a consideration as well. “I don’t mind Marc knowing about being with Marco, but I don’t think I’ll tell him about being soulmates; not yet, anyway. But if we get desperate, we’d rather he know.”

Thomas nods again, happy with the response. Like André, and Mats to a lesser extent, Thomas had been incredulous about their decision to keep going without telling anyone, and is glad that they are even considering getting support from someone else while Mario is overseas.

“If for some reason you need anything, you _call_ , okay Mario?” Thomas says, earnestly. “I don’t care where I am or what time of the day it is, you reach out – I’ll always be here for you and Marco.”

Mario is so overwhelmed by his friend’s love that he can’t do anything but swallow the lump in his throat and hug Thomas tightly to him.

\--

The move to England is as hellish as they imagine it would be. Felix and Fabian help Mario get all his belongings into boxes and crates ready to be picked up by the removalists, but its tiring and manic and the relentless media attention makes it all the worse. It gets so bad that Mario tells Marco to stay away, which his best friend doesn’t take too well to at first.

“I can’t go to the store to buy milk without a paps there,” Mario tries to reason with him, “if you came down and they spot you it would be a million times worse.”

Marco’s face is stony on his computer screen and Mario sighs. He understands Marco’s reaction but he really doesn’t see how it would make things any easier if his best friend was with him. Fortunately, Fabian overhears the conversation and jumps in in support of his brother.

“It really is a nightmare here, Marco,” Fabian says tentatively, “even I can’t wait until we get back to Dortmund.”

Marco and Fabian had learnt to team up on Mario when it came to be protective of him, and this is the one time he's actually grateful for it. Mario can see how much his best friend dislikes not being there with him, so having his brother assure him that Marco's requested absence is not personal is actually reassuring.

"Have you checked your schedule to see when you can fly up to Liverpool?" Mario asks when Fabian leaves the room, wanting to move on already.

Marco frowns, but goes with it anyway. “The week after you get there. I’ll be there a week as well, so I can help you unpack.”

Mario arches his eyebrows. “We’ll be finished unpacking most of the big stuff by then!”

“Yeah, I think that’s the point,” Marco smirks.

Mario rolls his eyes, then adds. “We’re driving up a couple of days earlier, if that’s okay with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Dortmund for a couple more days before I fly to Liverpool, so I hope you don’t mind having a flatmate in that time.”

It’s Marco’s turn to roll his eyes. “You have keys to my house, Sunny, not like I can actually keep you out.”

“I don’t know,” Mario grins playfully, “you might decide to change the locks on me.”

And then his grin falters because although there is a smile on Marco’s face, his eyes are bright – so bright that they are almost emerald green and the way that his best friend is looking at him makes Mario gasp. It’s that _Look_ , the one that is so incredibly fond and possessive but somehow manages to scream out _mine_ in a way that envelopes him yet is not suffocating; the one that causes a warmth to start in his sternum that sits there for a moment before uncurling to the rest of his body. It’s such a physical sensation that Mario can’t help but wonder if this is a side affect of their soul-bond, that Marco can project that type emotion with just a look through the camera; if this is the case, then he honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to survive being on the receiving end of it in person, he’s already stunned into inaction as it is.

“As if locks could ever keep you away from me,” is Marco’s response, the fierce look in his eyes never wavering.

“No,” Mario agrees, his blood singing and fingertips tingling. “I don’t think anything in this world could.”

\--

“Have you heard from Marc?” Fabian asks as the van drives off and they slump up against the wall, exhausted.

Four hours. Four hours of receiving boxes and trying to find space in the apartment – which although is rather generous with its two bathrooms and separate living room and three bedrooms – is still _small_ compared to his place in Munich and his parents’ house in Dortmund. Mario is starting to regret bringing all his stuff, and is seriously considering just shipping some back to Germany.

“He’s already here, too, I think.” Mario says. “Emre found him a flat pretty quickly and he needed to move in now if he wanted to get it.”

"That's good," Fabian nods, "at least you have a friend here already."

Mario’s so thankful that Marc-André made the move to England the same time as him, because even though he knew Emre through Bayern first and the national team later, he isn’t as close to the midfielder as he is to the keeper. In a way they had similar situations, not happy with the playing time they were getting at their clubs so had decided to move elsewhere, and Mario could sympathise quite a lot with his friend. They’d be living in the same neighbourhood, a few minutes drive from each other, both of them less than half an hour away from their other German teammate.

"Yeah, I'll be catching up with him later to see how he's going. What do you guys want for lunch?"

When Fabian and Felix fly back to Germany a week later, Mario sends Marc a text to see what the keeper is doing. He gets a reply back with an address, and Mario takes it as invitation to come over, so he starts walking the 20 minutes to his friend's house, enjoying the sunny day, looking forward to leisurely hanging out with his new [current] teammate.

Marc buzzes him in, and Mario stifles a guffaw when he walks into the living room because Marc isn’t alone. Although he half-expected it, it still amuses him greatly to see Bernd, covered in dust and struggling with a large cardboard box.

“You look like you had a fight with a roll of packaging tape and lost,” Mario says in greeting, grinning at the Leverkusen keeper.

Bernd looks down at himself then glares at Marc. “Some genius decided that using duct tape on cardboard boxes was a good idea. Do you know how hard it is to rip it off?”

“I wasn’t going to use that shitty stuff they sell at the supermarket – I actually wanted my things to arrive in one piece.”

“You actually don’t have much stuff,” Mario observes, “or is there more coming?”

“I sent most of the stuff back to my parents’, figured I could buy all the kitchen and electronic stuff here; makes it easier with the power points.”

“Makes sense,” Mario nods, again wishing he had done the same. “When’s the furniture coming?”

“Apparently tomorrow. They’ve said that for a week now, I’m not expecting much anymore.”

“Probably would have been faster to get it shipped from Germany,” Bernd says, sitting on a box. “At least then you wouldn’t have to assemble it either.”

“You got _Ikea_ furniture?” Mario laughs, incredulous.

Marc just shrugs. “I like Ikea.”

“And I don’t” Bernd adds, “so you get to put it together after I’m gone. By yourself.  Have fun with that.”

Marc sticks his tongue out at the other keeper.

“When are you back in Germany?” he asks Bernd, laughing some more at their silliness.

“In a couple of days. Going to Spain for a week with Christoph and a couple of the boys.”

“Are you going, too?” Mario addresses Marc-André with a sceptical lift of his eyebrows.

“With  _Christoph_?” Marc shudders. “No thanks.”

And Mario nods because as far as he knew, no-one had an idea about the nature of the relationship between the two keepers. Even when Mario had repeatedly told Marco that there was more to Bernd and Marc than the rivalry (and sex) that everyone thought, his best friend had been sceptical. Mario still can’t believe that people couldn’t see how often the two keepers sought each other out, how comfortable they actually are around each other, for there to not be more than what they seem.

“You wanna come with  _us_  then? To Spain, I mean? We’re meeting up with Mülli, Manu and a couple of the Dortmund boys.”

Mario bites back a smile when Marc’s eyes flitter to Bernd, who just shrugs lightly. Seriously, it was so  _obvious_ , how could people not  _see_?

“I’m actually going back to Barcelona to see Rafinha and the others for a few of days. Thiago will be there, visiting his brother, maybe  _you_  should come visit with me?”

"I'll have to check with Marco and see what the accommodation arrangements Manu booked are, but I wouldn’t mind going for a couple of days."

"Marco's coming to England, right?" Marc asks.

"For a visit? Yeah, tomorrow, so Bernd’ll cross over with him for a day at least. He had a family thing on first, but we'll be flying to Spain straight from here." Mario lifts an eyebrow at the two keepers. "Considering neither of us have kitchen ware or dining tables at the moment, what's the plan for dinner?"

\--

When Mario comes to, he pushes down the instinctive panic that grips him. _We_ _’_ _re okay, we_ _’_ _re okay_ , he chants to himself, actually finding comfort in the fact that Marco was slumped unconscious against him. He doesn’t know how long he’d been out, but guesses not more than ten minutes since his body hasn’t started becoming uncomfortable from having Marco’s dead weight on him, yet.

Trying to be gentle and not jostle his best friend too much, Mario slides out from underneath him to settle on the other side of the bed, and gives his body a mental check-up. Physically, there really isn’t much change. The tingling is a bit more prominent across his shoulder blades and left hand, but that could just be a response to the way Marco had been gripping his hand, so Mario isn’t really sure if that’s a new reaction. The singing in his veins that had started when he was in Dortmund for a few days has now morphed to a dull throbbing, and his sensitivity to smell is already heightened more than normal, but those are transformations more than anything, so all in all, no new experiences.

He’s a little disappointed, actually, because this is the first time that they’d had sex where he hadn’t had any new reactions, and although not all of them were pleasant or welcome, the discovery part is exciting. He could, however, live without the passing out.

The first time they had both blacked out after sex had been one of the most frightening experiences of his life. Marco had stayed over after the Bayern-Dortmund game at the Allianz, and they had barely shut the door behind them when 6 weeks of no physical contact had kicked in and they ended up succumbing in his hallway, not even bothering to aim for the bedroom.

Before the accident, they could go nearly twice that time without seeing each other, but it looked like now that they had decided to give them a go, their soul-bond had kicked into another gear and their time limitations were getting shorter. A side-effect that they only had vague knowledge about was how very physical their reactions could be to each other after prolonged distance. The desperate making out and handjobs against the front door had probably lasted a grand total of five minutes, and Mario would have been incredibly embarrassed afterwards had he not woken to a panicking Marco. Apparently, they had passed out after their orgasms and had slumped to the floor without knowing it. Fortunately, Mario didn’t have any large furniture or anything scattered about in his hallway that they could have hit their heads on, but it had still shaken them, especially since they hadn’t known how long they were out for.

They had done what anyone else would have done in their panicked state, and gone on to Google to see if there was any precedent to what happened to them, and although there was some mention of heightened senses, none that specifically addresses losing consciousness. They’d considered going to Dr. Müller-Wolfahrt and asking for advise, but had decided against it in the end, choosing to see if it happened again before going into panic mode. It did happen, pretty much every single time they caught up after a relatively long period of time, but after six months, they’d gotten quite good at making sure they had soft surfaces around them – like a bed, or at least a carpeted floor – whenever they had sex, but the initial panic of waking up still hadn’t subsided.

The upside to it, of course, is how incredibly intense their senses are in relation to each other, and Mario rather selfishly doesn’t want to give up how regular his toe-curling orgasms are now. He’d also now developed quite an addiction to the fruity smell of the organic shampoo and conditioner that Marco preferred, and had brought some to keep at his place, not to use, but to remind him of his bestfriend when missing him became too much. So he is somewhat clingy and obsessive about all things Marco, so sue him, he had half a dozen years of discovery that he is making up for.

It hadn’t been easy, the last six months; first with the decision to give them a try, then telling their families and the resulting tears from their parents (although the texts from Melanie and Yvonne telling him that Mario was their favourite brother-in-law had made him feel better), and finally with the logistics of being apart while making things work. But one thing that Mario is now coming to fully accept and appreciate is that there really is no question anymore about the concept of _them_. From that day that Marco had confessed that he had loved him too from their first national team call-up together and that he was willing to give them a go if Mario would take that journey with him, well Mario had had no other response but to pull his bestfriend in by his collar do what he’d wanted to do for more years than he cared to think about – kiss him senseless. And he had nearly blacked out then, too, but they’d had to pull apart before that happened to get some air into their lungs, the intensity of the reaction stunning them both.

(“If I’d known it would be feel this good I would have kissed you as soon as we met,” Marco had breathed, and Mario had laughed before pulling him in again for another kiss.)

Above everything else, what Mario treasures the most now is the feeling, the _knowledge,_ that whatever would come next, he’d always have Marco there with him, and that is what Mario would fight for with everything he has. Being in Liverpool and not Germany is just another adventure for them, and he’s determined to make the most of it, looking forward and not back – not anymore.

As he waits for Marco to awaken, Mario carefully runs his finger through his best friend's hair, caresses his pale skin with his tingling fingers.

_You’ll never walk alone._

It’s an apt motto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little bit of creative licensing here. I was going to wait until after all the transfer rumours had died down but after watching Sunny start from the bench _yet again_ , I decided _screw that!_ I'm going to send Mario somewhere he is actually loved. So in this case, that's Liverpool and the caring, fatherly supervision of Kloppo.
> 
> Marc-André transferring as well was a result of him talking about more playing time and I really, _really_ did not want him to end up in City. So he's in Liverpool with Mario, and they are friends, so naturally Sunny will trust him.


	4. Marco

_Jesus Christ, Mario, where the hell are you?!_  

Marco stomps over to the door and is about to yank it open when it swings open, narrowly missing his head. It is Mario, and he doesn’t look happy. 

Well, neither is Marco. “Where have you been?” 

“With Toni and André, where else? And do you have to go around yelling down the corridors? For fuck’s sake Marco, do you want us to get caught? Jogi and Schneider haven’t gone to bed yet.” 

“First of all, André brought the beer down half an hour ago, and we’ve been waiting for you and Toni to bring the rest of the shit before we can start. And second, I wasn’t yelling, get your ears checked!” 

“What are you talking about?” Mario demands, “I could hear you all the way out there!” 

“You must be hallucinating,” Marco snarks, “ask Mats, he was right beside me.” 

Mats looks like he doesn’t really want to get in the middle of their quarrel, but he does agree with Marco. “I’ve been with him the whole, Mario, he wasn’t yelling.” 

Mario just frowns at them. “But I could have sworn…”  

He trails off and stares at Marco for a bit, before both of their eyes go wide. “No way…” Mario breathes. 

Marco looks just as stunned, and Mats is pretty sure he’s missing something very important here. He’s about to ask when Mario’s face lights up into one of his trademark ‘Sunny’ grins. 

“Do it again!” he urges Marco, bouncing in place. 

Marco shakes his head, “I don’t think it works that way, you know.” 

“Fine, I’ll try.” And his expression turns into one of complete concentration. 

“Sunny, seriously I don’t-” but then Marco is clutching his head in pain, and two seconds later, so is Mario. 

“What the hell is going on?” Mats demands, starting to worry. 

“Oh god, that really hurt,” Mario complains, using Mats as a crutch to hold himself up. 

“Care to explain what just happened?” the Dortmund captain asks. 

“Feedback, I think.” Marco explains, as though that explained everything. 

Mats rolls his eyes. “Of course. But feedback from what?” 

“Me,” Marco says. 

Okay, Mats is getting really confused now. “Stop being so cryptic and just tell me what this is all about.” 

“I’m not sure,” Mario says, “but I think we can yell at each other.” 

“Yell at each other?” Mats parrots dumbly. 

“Yup, up here.” And Mario taps his temple to emphasise exactly how the yelling works. 

Mats takes a moment to let his eyes widen and jaw drop. “ _Serious_? Holy  _shit_!” he breaths in amazement. “Can you like talk to each other mentally as well?” 

Mario is still grinning and Marco looks amused at his captain’s reaction. “I don’t think so,” Marco replies, “but then we’re kinda new at this so who knows?” 

“That’s still pretty fucking amazing!” Mats exclaims. "Imagine all the things you guys can do when you're playing together!"

Naturally, it doesn't quite work out that way. That one time must have really been a one-off because they can't repeat the communication - either by accident or by design - but it doesn't stop Mario from trying anyway. He spends the rest of the break trying to have mental conversations with Marco, and even though Marco knows what Mario's trying to do and humours him by concentrating as well, they still don't manage anything beyond Mario looking like he is squinting at his best friend all the time.

Mats and Thomas find it hilarious, but Marco eventually asks Mario to stop, because, more than anything, it's really distracting.

"You look like a constipated chipmunk," Marco points out, and laughs loudly at Mario's indignant squawk. “People are gonna get suspicious if you keep staring at me like that.”

Mario huffs, but stops anyway, because they have a friendly to play and don’t need the distraction. Only Mario starts in the game against Australia, but Marco does get subbed on for Julian in the beginning of the second half and he realises that even if they couldn’t actually communicate the way they had hoped, maybe they didn’t need to. They can still read each other’s play like nothing else, and even if they don’t score, their movement is still too much for their opponents, and it’s their lateral runs that create space for Thomas and Toni to score.

It’s the singing in his veins, though, that stays with Marco, that and the pure joy in playing together and doing the one thing they are good at both together and apart, and he doesn’t even think twice when Mario signals to him not to linger after the post-game celebrations. They make their way back to their room as soon as they can get away with it, and Marco’s barely closed the door behind him when Mario shoves him down onto one of the beds.

They have rules for this, of course, having to be careful on when and how they have sex when they finally meet, because the months of not seeing each other tended to intensify any physical sensations, and they’re still too new at this to fully understand how their soul-bond worked. Shared hotel rooms during international break probably isn’t the best place to experiment, but sometimes Marco feels like dealing with the consequences later rather than now, and with the way Mario is kissing, touching, tugging at clothes, there’s no way he’s going to be able to wait until the end of the break for any sort of physical intimacy.

Maybe back then, before they had agreed to give them a chance, he would have settled for companionship, hugs, the occasional slightly-more-than-platonic-but-not-quite-romantic touching they engaged in, but now. Well, they’d deprived themselves for so long that Marco barely had the will to say no to anything Mario asked for anymore.

“Stop over-thinking this,” Mario says while pulling off his shirt and sitting up so Marco can do the same.

“I thought you couldn’t actually read my mind?” Marco smiles, taking in Mario’s flushed state and quite enjoying the determined look on his best friend’s face.

Mario rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop. “Just because I can’t read your mind doesn’t mean I can’t tell that you’re over thinking.”

Marco tips his head to one side, waits until his best friend is down only to his boxers, then grabs him, flipping him over so that Mario is lying on his back, blinking at him in surprise. He bends down to start mouthing at Mario’s neck, enjoying the gasp that he manages to draw out when he nips at the hollow in Mario’s throat. “Trust me Sunny, thinking is the last thing I want to be doing right now.”

They spend the next couple of hours proving just how true that is.

\--

They meet with Dr. Müller-Wohlfahrt the last day of the break to tell him about their (failed) experiment. He had been the one to provide them with good, reputable reading material in an effort to help them become comfortable with their bond, only asking that they keep him updated on their physical state, and they make it a point to check-in with him when they can, even if it’s just to say “we’re doing good”. Despite the largely professional interest the doctor has in their situation, Marco is still appreciative of how supportive the doctor is, always willing to give them five or fifty minutes outside of his professional office to answer questions, or point them in the direction of an expert who could help.

“I'll see if I have anything for you and email you some papers if I come across anything, but don't expect too much. You two are a special case,” he tells them wryly, “I don’t know any other bonded couple who forcefully tried to live without each other for so long.”

Marco blushes in spite of the good-natured reprimand, and they head back to pack for their trips back to their clubs after a few more minutes of chatting lightly with the team doctor.

Marco is the first one down and is waiting in the lobby with everyone else when Mario walks out of the lift, a frown on his face. He scans the room quickly until he finds Marco, then heads over.

“Everything okay?” Marco asks as Mario goes up to him for his goodbye hug.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit worried about him,” Mario tilts his head in the direction of the Leverkusen players, and Marco can guess who his best friend is referring to, noticing the tight expression on Bernd’s face and the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think they’re fighting – as in really, proper fighting – and they’re probably just gonna both stay angry and not try and fix it.”

Now that Marco thinks about it, the keeper had been pretty quiet and tense the second half of camp. Marco had jokingly suggested to Mario that Bernd was missing Marc, who had stayed home with a bad cold, but maybe his best friend is right and something had happened. Not that either of them could do anything about it, though. “That’s a shame, they looked really good over the summer.”

“I know,” Mario sighs. “I asked Bernd if he wanted to come with me, sort it out, but he said no. I think he’s still pissed at something Marc said.”

“It’s not really our place to get involved, Sunny,” Marco reminds him.

“I know,” Mario agrees, “but they’re our friends, and they’ll probably deny it if you ever bring it up, but they’re happy together, you know, and I wish they’d just learn to communicate more.”

“Yeah, well at least you can give Marc some good advice on how very bad not communicating is, right?” Marco teases.

Mario punches him in the arm. “Communicating goes both ways, asshole. It’s your fault too it’s taken us this long to get together.”

“Guilty,” Marco agrees, wrapping one arm around his bestfriend and placing a kiss on Mario’s forehead. “And I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

\--

Jogi and Bierhoff had already suggested that they inform their club coaches about their situation, and although Mario had talked to Kloppo about their relationship pretty much as soon as he settled into Anfield, Marco hadn’t really gotten around to it yet – more out of busyness and worrying about managing the distances now that they were in separate countries. And although he has a great relationship with the senior trainer, Marco’s still wary about letting people in on his and Mario’s situation, and he can’t help the slight misgivings in what he is about to do. His natural instinct is to go to Aki first, but he knows that in the end, the best thing to do is be open and honest with Tuchel since he still ultimately made decisions on Marco’s playing time, so he requests a talk with Tuchel on the first day back from international break. Tuchel is surprised, there’s no doubt about it, because the normally un-ruffle-able man stares at Marco for a few minutes before finally saying anything.

“Soul bond?” he asks, “with Mario Götze?”

“Yes,” and Marco waits nervously for the rest of the reaction.

“That,” Tuchel starts, then stops to stare at Marco some more. “That is pretty amazing. Treasure it, Reus, it’s a rare thing to find now.”

Marco’s eyes widen in wonder, not expecting that from his coach. “I know,” he nods, “and I will.”

“So why did you feel the need to inform me of this?” Tuchel asks, now all business.

So Marco explains to him, as best as he can, that maybe sometime in the future he'd need to take an extra half or full day's training off to visit England, a necessity borne out of needing direct physical contact on a regular basis. Tuchel listens in silence, and Marco almost slumps in relief when his coach gives (tentative) approval, so long as it doesn't affect his ability to keep up training standards or his performance during games. They'd have to discuss on a case-by-case basis, but it's the best outcome Marco could have asked for.

In the end, he only really uses the special arrangement once, just after the last international break of the year when Mario picks up a minor knock in the second friendly. Because they wouldn't be seeing each other until Christmas and they didn't want to take anymore dangerous chances like they did at the beginning of the year, Marco decides that it's important enough to get permission to visit a week later, and spends a day and a half doing nothing but crashing on Mario's couch and making sure his best friend isn't putting pressure on his ankle.

A month later, Marco finds himself once again landing at Manchester airport, planning on staying over the Christmas break and returning just before New Year. Despite having booked the first flight out, the flight is delayed, naturally, and by the time he arrives in England, it is noon of Christmas Eve and the snow that was originally forecasted is already turning into sludge and black ice. The traffic is horrendous, and by the time the taxi drops him him off at Mario's, Marco doesn't do anything, just shrugs out of his coat and leaves his suitcase in the hallway, then falls face-first on the sofa.

Mario finds him like that when he gets home from training a couple of hours later.

"It was the journey from  _hell_ ," Marco explains dramatically, ignoring his best friend's laughter and not moving from his initial position.

"It's Christmas Eve, what did you expect?" Mario says, unsympathetic.

"That you'd miss me and be super glad that I'm here?" Marco asks almost sarcastically.

Mario just laughs some more, knowing that Marco is not truly peevish, and he comes over to finally kiss him hello. It's slow and sweet - unhurried because it is their first time seeing each other again after a month - and when they finally part for air, their breathing is ragged but not quite uncontrollable yet.

"We have to finish preparing dinner before our favourite goalkeepers come over in a few hours," Mario says, pulling away with a smile whenever Marco tries to lean back in for another kiss.

"What time are you expecting them?" Marco moves his attention to Mario's jaw, making his way down his best friend's neck.

"Eight, but I still have to pick up some more ingredients for tonight and tomorrow," Mario replies, voice hitching lightly, "or else we won't have any food and I really don't want to starve on Christmas."

Marco just hums into his best friend's neck, not making any effort to move. He feels so completely content that he's almost tempted to suggest cancelling dinner so that he and Mario could start spending their quality time, but aside from knowing that Mario would never agree to it, Marco knows it's a dick move and he really is glad to be able to share Christmas with his friends especially since for the first time in forever, he wouldn't be spending it with his family. So he pulls away, eventually, and goes for his coat hanging in the hallway.

"So the plan is groceries, cooking, then Christmas Eve dinner?" Marco asks as they pull out of the driveway.

"It'll be fun," Mario grins, clearly looking forward to the festivities. "I've even stocked up on Glühwein, we can make our own later."

"Really?" Marco asks, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah," Mario laughs, "Marc and I went shopping yesterday, had to fight off the Christmas rush. Be thankful Aldi is everywhere, or else we wouldn't have gotten enough to make a decent batch. We got some Stollen too, and Marc's bringing the gingerbread and cookies."

"Alright!" Marco exclaims. "Traditional German Christmas it is, then?"

"We don't have a tree, real _or_ fake," Mario reminds him.

"True. But at least we'll have more floor space."

"Why in the world would you need more floor space?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

Mario turns to look at him briefly, and Marco delights in how his best friend's breath catches when their eyes meet. Mario goes back to watching the road with a smile on his lips.

\--

"So do you think we'll get recognised?" Marco asks, burrowing himself deeper into his scarf.

"You might," Bernd replies, taking in the small number of people milling around. "I doubt anyone here even knows my name."

"Of course they do, you were on their radar before they signed Marc, remember?"

Bernd just shrugs. "Okay maybe my name, but I don’t think they could pick me out in a line-up of German goalkeepers if they tried. Apparently, we all look alike."

"It's actually scary how much you, Manu and Marc resemble each other. In some pictures you and Marc look like twins."

Bernd shudders at that. "Please don't," he pleads, making Marco laugh.

"It's just so weird," he observes.

"What is?"

"Come on dude, you guys used to fight  _all the time_. And now, here you are! How in the world did  _that_  happen?"

"Contrary to popular belief, we  _do_  know how to talk," the keeper replies.

“Obviously,” Marco agrees, then raises his eyebrows at his friend. “Can I ask how long?”

It’s an open question and Marco’s almost certain Bernd won’t answer because both keepers seem intent on keeping their relationship as secret as they can, not that he can blame them. Marco is pretty sure that it’s only the fact that Mario and Marc-André play together that Bernd was talking to him about it all, which is why it takes him by surprise when the Leverkusen keeper shrugs nonchalantly and says “a few months.”

Marco  _stares_  because firstly, he wasn’t expecting the confirmation, and secondly, after literally years and years of  _whatever_ , the two former rivals had  _finally_  gotten their shit together. He had suspected in the past, and Mario had outright told him that Bernd and Marc had an emotional as well as a physical relationship, regardless of whether they were aware of it or not, but it still comes across as unexpected because Marco had no idea at just how good his friends were at hiding it all.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” Marco says, punching Bernd lightly in the shoulder. The keeper doesn’t say anything, just shrugs again.

Marco resists the temptation to tease Bernd about the flush on his face that Marco is sure isn’t because of the biting wind, instead asking “do you think they’ll win?”

“As long as they don’t lose, I don’t really care, to be honest.” Bernd looks around at the now half-filled stadium. “What in the world possessed them to schedule a game the day after Christmas? This is fucking crazy. People have better things to do than watch a football match today.”

“Totally agree,” Marco says, nodding. "You got a score prediction?”

“Marc’s a little shit when he concedes, so I’m gonna say 1-0.”

“Sunny to score?”

Bernd rolls his eyes at him. “When did you turn into such a love-sick sap?”

Marco can’t help it, and grins widely. “Dude, it takes one to know one.”

Luckily for everyone, Liverpool do win 1-0, and although Mario doesn’t score, it is his assist in the end, and truth be told, nobody really cared as long as they didn’t lose because even Marc had a Christmas break when playing for Barcelona so playing a match the day after Christmas is still something they are getting used to.

They drop the two keepers off after the game, intent on spending some quality time since they still had training for the game on the 30th and Felix and Fabian are planning on coming up for New Year, mainly to keep Mario company since Marco was planning on flying back to Germany before the game to spend time with his family before having to go to winter camp.

There’s not really much to do in slushy, wet, dreary north England, so Marco finds himself enjoying doing nothing during the day, mainly cooking and going for walks when the weather permits; and they develop of a routine for the remaining nights, he and Mario cooking dinner at home then watching back-to-back episodes of whatever BBC drama Mario is currently hooked on. The one day Marco spends with Bernd when Marc and Mario have a double training session, they end visiting Skipton Castle, being anonymous tourists for a day. As Christmases goes, it’s a pretty quiet one, but it’s their first Christmas _together_ and Marco decides that they can have busier, more activity-filled festivities in the future; for now, all he wants to do is savour their alone time.

If Marco had thought that there would be a huge lifestyle change when he and Mario had gotten together, the half-season leading up to Russia prove him very wrong. The only major difference – aside from the obvious feelings part and the fact that they are _official_ – is that they looked forward to and plan their schedule quality time with pleasure and not just necessity.

Not to say that it’s all smooth sailing.

First and foremost, like with any couple, they fight. Not a lot, but the fact that they are in different countries makes it impossible to just hop in the car and be together. Because their relationship is built so much on connection and _touch_ now, when they’re both angry enough to not resolve their problems immediately, the consequences are usually physical as well. Their first big fight ended after four days, and only because they had started developing a physical reaction to being so antagonistic towards each other. The splitting headache that Marco carried around on the second and third day made training almost impossible, and he rather unsurprisingly landed in Tuchel’s bad books. After being punished with another set of laps on the fourth day, Mats had pulled him aside, yelled at him for being an idiot, and then had somehow managed to get Benni to scold him as well - which was actually more scary than all of Mats' yelling. Marco swallowed his pride soon after that and asked Mario to call him when he got home from training; they quickly talked and made up.

Secondly, although he doesn’t complain about it aloud and would do it over and over without a second thought, Marco gets rather tired of Düsseldorf and Manchester airports quite quickly, having to do most of the travelling in their once-every-five-weeks visits, mainly because the crazy Premier League schedule meant that Mario isn’t as flexible about taking time off as Marco is.

He almost gets caught a couple of times, the tabloid media in England seeming to be more resourceful than the ones in Germany, and it unsettles Marco how very little privacy football players actually have. He starts to hate being locked in Mario’s apartment, especially as the weather warms and he can’t even hide behind beanies and scarves, but they don’t really have a choice in the matter. Of course Marco knows that what’s important is he and Mario spending time together, so he tries to think of his visits to Liverpool as times to catch up on his favourite TV shows.

When Liverpool get knocked out of the UCL in the quarter finals, Mario surprises Marco by admitting he isn’t as heartbroken as he thought he would be. That’s not to say that Mario wouldn’t have been seriously ecstatic if they had made it further, but he’s learning to appreciate just playing on a regular basis for now – there’s still next season and the way that Liverpool is going, making the UCL is again a real possibility for them. Dortmund make it all the way to the finals against Barcelona, knocking out Madrid in the semis, and he and Mario decide to hold off on birthday celebrations until after Russia.

Their friends however, have other plans.

Marco doesn’t know how he ends up at Benni’s house one night, having agreed to have a very very early birthday celebration hosted by his friend. It doesn’t make sense, really, because if anything, Mats would have normally offered his house (or taken over Marco’s) but since Marco had never been good at saying no to Benni, he dutifully knocks on the Schalke captain’s door at the appointed time.

“Marco!” Lisa says delightedly, when she opens the door.

“I’m not late?” Marco asks, shuffling in the doorway when Lisa doesn’t let him in.

“No, you’re right on time,” Benni finally pops up behind his wife, looking ready to go out.

Marco stares at them in surprise when Benni hands him keys, then follows Lisa out the door, overnight bag in hand. “What?” he asks, not understanding.

“Advanced happy birthday,” Benni smiles at him, “we’ll be back tomorrow around six. Try not to break anything.”

Marco is still staring at them when Lisa kisses him on the cheek and gently pushes him into their apartment. “Go,” she says, “he’s waiting for you.”

Then without further explanation, Benni and Lisa leave him standing in their hallway.

Marco just shakes his head, not quite understanding what’s happening until he walks into Benni’s living room to see Mario sitting on the couch, watching his stunned expression with amusement.

“Surprise,” Mario says, face split into a grin.

Marco stops, stunned to see his best friend in Germany, then quickly crosses the room and into Mario’s waiting arms. _Best surprise birthday ever_ , Marco thinks, leaning into a kiss.

 


	5. Marco and Mario

 

They file for  _Lebenspartnerschaft_  five days after coming back to Dortmund from Berlin, needing that much time to recover from the two days of drinking that had followed the Russia World Cup win. At the ceremony, only Fabian and Melanie attend as witnesses, the rest of their family and small group of friends already at the exclusive restaurant they had rented to celebrate their wedding (or more accurately, their decision to become life partners). It is an informal gathering, really, the highlight being that Mario’s grandmother had roped Jogi Löw into dancing with her, his wife Daniela pushing him on to the dance floor with a laugh. André and Thomas would have filmed the truly amazing sight had they not been afraid of the reprisal at the next national team call up.

It's so good to be able to let loose and celebrate without having to hold back, and being there with their family and closest friends, makes them so incredibly thankful for having a support network that had been sorely lacking before they had officially gotten together, and they can't imagine how much harder it would have been if not for them all.

They are all there; aside from those teammates who know about their soul-bond, but also teammates and the other close friends in Marco's life who just knew that Marco and Mario were  _together;_  their family who had from the beginning (well, as soon as the shock wore off) had been their number one cheerleaders and strength; Jogi, who, alongside the absent Oliver Beirhoff and Dr. Müller-Wohlfahrt, had been the first to offer, and continue to offer, support and wisdom; their agents. They had all been incredibly supportive, never once judging or questioning, only ever being understanding and truly happy for them. Marco and Mario hadn't wanted a big party, but in the end, the event was as much a 'thank you' to everyone as a celebration for them, and they are happy that in the end, it is a good night.

There had a been a number of surprised looks, of course, when Mario's ex-girlfriend had arrived, especially since out of all their footballing friends, only Lisa Müller had been specifically invited as a partner, the absence of André's wife Montana making Ann-Kathrin's presence that much more incredible. Their friends would have been surprised to know that it was actually Marco's idea to invite her, and there were more than one curious glances when they had danced together at the end of the night.

"Everyone's looking at us," Ann-Kathrin says, a pleased smile on her lips.

Marco rolls his eyes at how much she is enjoying this. "They're all probably wondering when you're going to step on my foot with your stilettos, or something," he shrugs.

Her laugh is loud and delighted and draws a fond glance from Mario, who is dancing with his mother.

"Oh come on," the beautiful model says, "we're past that already, you know that."

"I know," Marco agrees, "and I'm still going to be forever thankful to you."

"Is that really why you invited me?" she asks, tilting her head to one side, regarding him. "A sense of duty?"

"Only a little bit. We both wanted to invite you if you were willing to come, but personally? For more reasons than anyone will ever know, you're the reason why this is happening, so it's as much a celebration as it is me saying, well, you were right." Marco smiles at her almost fondly, "you have my permission to say ' _I told you so_ '."

Ann-Kathrin keeps looking at him for some seconds, before a grin splits her face and she throws her head back for another round of laughter, and this time, Marco joins in, both of them ignoring the attention they are attracting.

When the night starts to draw to a close, Marco and Mario are pressed into a speech, which after some bickering, they decide Marco will make.

"So, hubby and I just-" Marco starts, only to be interrupted by Mats yelling "life partners!" from across the room. This elicits laughter and causes Benni to punch his fellow defender in the shoulder to shut him up.

"Thank you, Mr. Hummels - insightful as always. Anyway, what I was going to say before mein kapitän so rudely interrupted, was that Mario and I just want to thank you all for coming tonight on such notice. I understand that a lot of people were already starting their holidays, so if you had to come back for this, please feel free to blame our esteemed coach Joachim Löw for deciding to lead us to a World Cup win and taking up the last two months of our lives so that we ran out of planning time. A toast to Jogi."

Marco raises his glass to his eye-rolling but smiling fondly coach, and chuckles when Thomas calls out "here here!" causing everyone to laugh again.

"We should probably thank everyone one by one but we won't, because well, we only have this place for about 10 more minutes so we're on a bit of a time restraint. But more importantly," and Marco reaches back to take Mario's hand (ignoring the ' _awwwww'_  and dramatic sniffling from Marcel and Robin), "we would never have gotten here without everyone in this room and it probably means more to us than you will ever know that you came and celebrated with us. So thank you, everyone, a million times, love you all. _Prost_!"

And everyone cheers and raises their glasses before Mario yells out, "take some cake home, I'm not gonna eat all that on my own!"

As everyone helps to gather various things to take home and say their goodbyes, Mario steps back for a moment to take one last satisfied look around, so very happy at seeing those nearest and dearest to him here at this very moment. He looks down at the ring on his hand; they are not compulsory for a civil union, but he had wanted them and as a visible reminder of today. Despite the fact that 99% of the time he wouldn't be able to wear it while he was still playing, it still thrills him to have this proof of how far he and Marco had come. With the excellent first season in Liverpool, Dortmund's CL win and the Germany World Cup win, and now _this_ , 2018 is gearing up to be the best year of their lives, and to think they'd only just began this journey together. Mario shakes his head in wonder as he goes to say goodbyes to the last of their guests and finally take his new husband [yes, yes, life partner] home.

\--

They spend the next week traveling through northern Italy doing touristy things and relaxing in the private lakeside villa they rent, before spending a few days in Germany with their families then heading to England, where they have dinner one night with Kloppo since he couldn't make the wedding [life partners celebration - whatever]. The night before Marco has to fly back to Dortmund in order to give them both time to prepare for their clubs' pre-season tours, Mario is inexplicably clingy, obviously dreading their separation.

“You’ll be gone less than a month,” Marco points out, stroking his hair and holding him close. “Besides, we’ve been together for more than two months straight, we should be fine before we see each other when we get back.”

“I just hate being separated,” Mario admits, voicing his number one fear. After the car accident, most of Mario’s nightmares had been variations of being away from Marco and never seeing him again, and as irrational as it is, Marco can’t blame him, because he suffers from the same anxiety often enough, worrying when they are apart.

Marco sits up and looks at him seriously. “We’ve discussed this already,” he reminds him, “you've still got a lot of years playing in England and I’m not leaving Dortmund. We’ve agreed it’s okay, are you changing your mind?”

“No, it’s not that.” Mario sighs, trying to pull Marco back down to him, “I think I’ve just gotten used to you being here all the time. It’s going to be hard sleeping on my own again.”

Marco relaxes at his words. “I know what you mean,” Marco agrees, placing a kiss to Mario’s temple. “But hey, we’re married now–“

“Life partners,” Mario corrects with a smile.

Marco rolls his eyes and ignores him. “–and we have the rest of our retirement life to being together all the time. Which, may I remind you, we will still be in our thirties. We’ll be young enough to start from scratch if we want to.”

“I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to start all over again,” Mario says with a face.

“We’ve still got time yet, Sunny. And you can’t get rid of me, not now, not ever.”

“Life partners,” Mario says again, smiling.

“Soul mates,” Marco corrects gently. “It’s always been you.”


	6. Epilogue

The little boy runs awkwardly, his unsteady steps further hindered by the gigantic bag on his back, his father looking on carefully, but proudly, as he makes his way to front of the house on his own. He raps his knuckles on the glass pane next to the door, his face screwed up in concentration as he rat-a-tats a rhythm to let the owner of the house know he is there. He then steps to the side, remembering what he’d learnt about out-swinging doors, patiently waiting for both his father to join him and his knock to be answered. 

“I don’t think they heard you,” his father says when he joins him at the doorway, “do you want to ring the doorbell?” 

The little boy nods his head earnestly, raising his hands to get picked up, dutifully pressing on the gray panels on the wall.  

“Come inside, little prince,” a woman says, and the boy perks up when he recognises her voice. 

He squirms to get put down once he hears the tell-tale ‘click’ signalling the electronic door being opened, and he runs in as soon as he has just enough space to fit through. 

“Joachim!” His father calls in exasperation, “no running indoors, remember? Where are your manners?” 

The little boy stops in his tracks, turns around to give his father a guilty look, then mumbles a “sorry Papa.” 

“It’s okay, Mario, we’re just as excited to see him too.” And Daniela steps out of the kitchen into the hallway, a large smile on her lips, arms outstretched to the young boy. 

“Oma!” Joachim cries delightedly, burrowing himself into the woman’s embrace, loving her warmth as though she were really his grandmother. 

“Have you grown some more, little Jogi?” Daniela asks, pulling away to really look at he boy. 

“I’m a big boy now,” Joachim nods earnestly. “I’m going to _school_ next year and Papa got me my school things already.” And he twists his torso from side-to-side so that his over-sized backpack is bouncing. The little boy had been incredibly excited about going to school and had started carrying his backpack around everywhere.

“Let me take that,” Mario says, releasing his son from the confinements of the bag, leaning over to give Daniela a kiss on each cheek. “He awake?” 

“Reading in the kitchen,” the older woman confirms, leading them further into the house.

Jogi Löw is indeed reading a newspaper, but the older must have heard them come in because he is already out of his seat, face lit up with a soft smile when Mario walks up to him. 

“Coach,” the younger man greets, still not able to break the habit of a decade’s worth of respect. Their relationship is different now, of course, but it’s underlined by affection more than anything, and Mario treasures it all the more. 

“Mario,” Löw chides gently, eyes crinkly at the edges. 

Mario just laughs, pulls the former senior trainer into a rough embrace. “Sorry.” 

“Marco not with you?” 

Before Mario can respond, a little voice pipes up, “Opa-me you haven’t said hello to me yet!” 

Mario groans at his son’s lack of manners, but the boy’s namesake just grins, taking the child from his wife’s arms. “How are you, mini-me?” Löw asks, kissing Joachim’s cheek softly. 

“I’ve been good! You can ask Papa, and Oma promised me a cookie if I was good so can I have a cookie?” 

Mario groans again, but knows he won’t win because Daniela and Löw always give in to Joachim’s requests – that’s what they get for naming their son after their former coach. 

“Only if your Papa says yes,” Löw smiles, noticing Mario’s face. 

“I was good Papa!” Joachim insists, “you even said so when we were looking for my uniform!” 

And both Daniela and her husband laugh at the wide-eyed look on their god-son’s face.  

“He’s learnt that expression from you!” the former trainer exclaims, grinning at Mario’s pained look, “now you know how it feels like whenever you used it on the rest of us.” 

“Do you think it’s too late to apologise to everyone?” Mario asks wryly, before agreeing to one cookie. 

“Thank you Papa,” Joachim says delightedly, taking a seat next to Daniela and regaling her of his latest adventures. 

“I can’t believe he’s starting school already,” Löw says, shaking his head in wonder. “Weren’t we just celebrating his first birthday?” 

“I know what you mean,” Mario agrees, “and he’s already asking about football. I don’t know if I’m even ready for that yet.” 

“One step at a time, Mario,” Löw says gently. “And how was the interview with the school? Were they okay with your request?” 

“They’re very discreet,” Mario replies, turning his eyes to his son. “Thankfully they didn’t mind us using my mother’s maiden name for Jogi. I just don’t know if I could handle it if he got bullied in kindergarten because of who his parents are. We want to give him one year of normalcy at least, before he has to face the world that way.” 

“Children are a lot more resilient than we give them credit for,” Löw says, putting an arm on Mario’s shoulder, drawing the younger man’s attention back to him. “Joachim is surrounded by love, he’ll be assured that he’s always protected, no matter what the world likes to tell him otherwise. The name change will help ease him into school, at least.” 

“Yeah,” Mario agrees with an eye-roll, “I don’t think enrolling him as Joachim Götze-Reus is the best strategy if we’re aiming for anonymity” 

“He’ll be fine,” Löw assures Mario, clapping him on the shoulder and inviting him to sit down. “Where is Marco, anyway?” 

“He had a private flight this morning, but we'll be meeting him at the airport. We’ve got dinner with Mats and Benni tonight in Dortmund so we’re leaving Jogi with my mom for the evening.”

"Ah, so the holiday is now over?"

"It's always nice to visit my grandparents and Jogi loves Memmingan. It's kinda sad though, they're getting old already and I want Jogi to spend as much with them as possible. It's not as easy to just hop in the car and drive from Dortmund, anymore."

"The life of a family man," Löw smiles. "But you wouldn't have it any other way."

It is not a question, and Mario doesn't treat it as one. He looks at his son who is laughing loudly, cookie crumbs surrounding him, and as so often happens since Joachim came to live with them, Mario feels the muted throbbing that is now a permanent accompaniment to the singing in his veins, and he's almost overwhelmed by sheer love.

"My soul's satisfied," he agrees simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believer we're done... thanks for sticking this out. Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> \--  
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I write **_fiction_** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.  
>  \--


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